Friday 14th July


It is with a deepening loathing of airports that I sit here,
Waiting for a gate,
Any gate,
To open,
Onto my holiday,

Missed the flight,
Due to officious security,
None the less,
Missed things they should’ve found,
Sent the bags back through machines,
For every bag we had,
Kept us emptying,
Until the flight took off,
As we hurtled through that foul jungle of perfume & booze,
We are made to walk through,
Irradiated by bright lights,
Until we felt sick,
To watch the plane reverse from it’s stand,
Leaving us sweat-soaked & gasping for breath,

The nice young lady in uniform listened,
Checked for other flights,
Handed us over to the nice young man in uniform,

The nice young man in uniform listened politely,
As I told him this was my only holiday,
Guided us gently,
Back through security,
Back across the boarder,
To where we might find another flight,
Quietly replying to my exasperation as he left,
That he hadn’t had a holiday in five years




5 thoughts on “Friday 14th July

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